


i wanna kiss you until i lose my breath

by camellialice



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bisexual Richie Tozier, Coming of Age, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Jealousy, M/M, so much obliviousness. just like. bucketfuls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 02:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21330535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camellialice/pseuds/camellialice
Summary: “Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, and he hates himself for even asking. “Whohaskissed Richie?”Bev raises her hand. Ben raises his hand. Stan raises his hand. Bill, even, raises his hand.Richie opens his mouth. “Your mo–”“Beep fucking beep, Richie.”Richie has kissed every member of the Losers Club except Eddie. Eddie’s not jealous. He just curious about why, that’s all.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Richie Tozier/all the Losers tbh
Comments: 23
Kudos: 710





	i wanna kiss you until i lose my breath

Richie’s first kiss is Bill.

They’re eight years old and they’ve never kissed anybody and it’s starting to dawn on them that they might, one day, and it seems better to be prepared. So they sit under the oak tree outside Bill’s house and look around furtively to make sure no one can see, and then Richie leans in and plants one on him.

It’s… fine. Quick, mostly. Just a little peck, and Richie’s lips are chapped. Nothing to write home about. But the important thing is that they’ve _ done _ it, and now, if any girls come along and want to kiss them, they’ve got experience.

So, really, that one hardly counts in the grand scheme of things. Which means that Richie’s first _ real _ kiss (no matter how many he brags about to the Losers) is Beverly.

This time they’re 15 and they’re just goofing around. Beverly lays a wet, slobbery smooch on his cheek, trying to gross him out, but Richie retaliates by twisting his head and catching her mouth with his. Beverly steps back, sputtering, wiping at her mouth dramatically, while he cackles at her. She sees him nearly bent over with laughter, narrows her eyes, and marches right back.

This kiss catches him off guard and he’s left floundering for a second before he can react. But then, fuck it, he kisses her back, because he refuses to lose this game of kiss chicken, and she’s _ actually kissing him_, and suddenly they are making out for real behind the clubhouse.

It’s awkward and messy, and neither of them are super good at it, and they keep breaking apart to laugh at themselves and each other. Richie inadvertently puts his hands on a particularly ticklish part of her side and she yelps and steps on his foot. But it’s fun, and it’s enthusiastic, and it feels really good, and this is when Richie realizes that he fucking loves kissing.

They go back inside eventually and nothing really comes of it. Eddie asks where they’ve been and Richie launches into the story of a kinky three way with Mrs. K (and is almost immediately beep-beeped by everyone in the room). Every once in a while, as the night goes on, Richie blows some kisses across the room at Bev just to see her turn red. She sticks her tongue out at him.

It’s easy. It’s simple. Richie lies in the hammock, foot swinging over one side, watching Eddie gnaw at the side of his thumb, and wonders what it would be like if it was that easy to kiss all of his friends.

It’s Ben next, surprisingly, dear Ben who seems to have believed all the shit Richie’s been talking for years. He sidles up next to Richie, embarrassed, and asks so quietly that Richie can barely hear him, “Can you teach me how to kiss?”

And okay, yes, Richie technically has more experience than Ben at this point, at a score of 2-0, but even he knows (not that he would _ ever _ admit it) that he’s not an expert. So he puts forth as much bravado as he can muster and a bit of a Voice and says, “Well, Benny boy, it’s all about instinct, see. Animal magnetism and all that. It’s not really something that can be taught.”

And Ben looks really sad now, so Richie feels bad, and he sighs and says, “Here, let me show you.”

Ben looks up. “What do you mean?”

“Learn by doing. I’m not good at explaining things.” He doesn’t even know if he’s good at kissing, but he’s definitely good at flying by the seat of his pants.

“Are you sure?” Ben asks.

“Let’s do it!” Richie says, to psych himself up as much as Ben. “Come on in and learn the patented Tozier technique. Guaranteed to make all the ladies swoon, or your money back.”

“I have to pay you money?”

“It’s an expression, Jesus. C’mon. Pucker up, Benjamina.”

And Ben’s looking up at him, hopeful and trusting, so Richie closes his eyes and goes for it.

Ben’s lips are soft and his breath is nice, and Richie tries to remember all the details of his kiss with Bev. She kind of opened her mouth a little, so he does that, and Ben follows suit. He lets his tongue slip out a little bit, and then quickly realizes he has no idea what he’s doing with it, so he pulls it back in. He closes his mouth just a bit, grazing Ben’s bottom lip with his own, and pulls away.

“So, uh, that’s how you do it,” he says, red-faced, and sprints away.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” Eddie asks as Richie careens to a halt next to him. “Jesus, is the fucking clown chasing you?” He’s taking the piss, but when Richie is still panting and leaning against the wall, he starts to panic for real and his hand instinctively goes for his inhaler. “Richie. Richie, if he’s back, you’re legally obligated to tell me, I swear to —”

“No clown, Eds,” Richie says quickly. “Relax.”

“Don’t call me Eds, asshole,” Eddie says, but all he feels is relief.

“Can’t catch my breath,” Richie gasps, slumping against the wall. He turns his head and waggles his eyebrows at Eddie. “Give me mouth to mouth, Dr. K?”

“Fuck you, Richie.”

Eddie’s never kissed anyone.

“It’s disgusting,” he tells his friends. “And what’s the point of it, anyway? Smushing your mouths together? When did we decide that was the ultimate expression of love?”

“I gave _ your mom _ the ultimate expression of love!” Richie holds up his hand for a high-five. No one gives it to him.

“Did you know that 80% of people have oral herpes?” Eddie continues. “80%! If you’ve kissed someone, they probably have herpes! They probably gave you herpes!”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Stan deadpans, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Richie protests. “What the fuck, Staniel?”

Stan just turns his head and levels him with a withering stare. “Beep. Beep.”

Ben frowns. “Aren’t oral herpes just, like, cold sores?”

“Don’t tell me you still believe girls have cooties, Eddie,” Bev says.

Eddie flushes red. He hadn’t been thinking of girls.

“It’s not always about k-kissing,” Bill says. “It’s about the person. It’s about h-having a person you wanna kiss.”

And really, Eddie knows in his heart of hearts, that’s his problem. The only thing more terrifying than the cesspool of germs in the human mouth is the monumental task of finding somebody to share it with.

“Have you ever kissed another guy?” Stan asks. He’s been quiet today, thoughtful. He’s sitting on Richie’s bed, twisting a rubber band in his fingers, and he doesn’t meet Richie’s eyes when he asks the question.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Like, for practice,” he adds for clarification.

“Who?”

“Bill, when we were kids. And Ben once.”

Stan looks up. “Ben?”

Richie shrugs. “He wanted to learn how to kiss, so he came to the master.”

“I refuse to believe that you’re the master of kissing,” Stan says flatly, because Stan sees through all his bullshit.

“Benjy boy didn’t have any complaints,” Richie brags. It seems best not to share any other details of the incident.

Stan goes quiet again for a minute. Then he asks, “Have you ever wanted to kiss a boy? Not for practice?”

_ Yes_, Richie thinks, _ every day since I was eleven years old_. But Stan probably isn’t asking about the specific boy Richie wants to kiss.

He clears his throat instead. “Do you?”

“Sometimes,” Stan says.

“Me too. Sometimes.”

It doesn’t really feel like coming out. He hadn’t particularly felt like he was in a closet. But there is something that escapes out from inside of him when he says that. A small weight lifted out of the pit of his stomach.

“Would you kiss me?” Stan asks.

“Well, I don’t know.” Richie grins. “Do I need to be worried about herpes?”

(He’s not worried about herpes. Though he might be worried about Eddie being worried about herpes.)

“I’m serious, Richie,” Stan says, and Richie deflates a bit.

“Course I would,” Richie says. “You’re Stan the Man! Who wouldn’t kiss you?” It’s not even a joke. Stan’s his best friend, and he’s very kissable. Richie’s sure he can’t be the only person to have noticed that.

But then he does notice the way Stan is looking at him, and a thought occurs. “That was a hypothetical question, right?”

Stan doesn’t break his gaze, doesn’t even blink, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.”

Richie’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest, thumping its way up into his throat, that he can barely hear himself think. Stan’s face is steady, eyes certain – the opposite of how Richie’s feeling. He quirks an eyebrow, a kind of challenge, and Richie’s palms are sweating.

Stan is, after all, _ very _kissable.

So Richie does what he does best: acts before he thinks. He crawls across the bed and kisses Stan. And Stan wraps a hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place and kisses him back. It’s not like kissing Bill or Bev or Ben. It is soft and hopeful and scared and tender. It’s the kind of vulnerable that scares Richie the most.

In another world, in another life, Richie thinks, he could fall in love with Stanley Uris.

He pulls back. Neither of them look at each other.

“Um,” Richie says, because he fucking hates silence. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Stan says.

“Awesome.” Richie breathes out in relief, but his fingers are still twitching, tapping against his thighs. “Do you want to play a video game?”

“I’m almost 18,” Eddie says, crossing his arms. “We’re going to college next year. Aren’t we too old for truth or dare?”

It’s a dumb game. It’s an immature game. It’s a deeply embarrassing game. Eddie hates it.

“Aw, Eds,” Richie says, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “You’re never too old for truth or dare! Besides, we have booze, so it’s age-appropriate.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Eddie says. “Don’t call me Eds.”

“Grouchypants.” Richie pokes at Eddie’s pout with his free hand. “Let’s turn that frown upside down, eh, Spagheds?”

Eddie bats him away. “I need a drink.”

“That’s the spirit!” Richie calls after him. “Get it? Spirit?”

They settle into a circle on the floor of the clubhouse. Richie’s got a devilish look in his eye and a shit-eating grin and Eddie’s stomach does flips at the sight of him. He takes a swig of his drink for courage and hopes desperately that Richie won’t call on him.

But Richie’s attention isn’t on him tonight. “Bev,” he says. “Truth or dare?”

Bev chooses dare, of course, because she always chooses dare, and Richie’s grin widens.

“I dare you to kiss Ben.”

Bev shrugs, nonchalant, turns to her right, and does it — a quick, closed-mouth kiss. When she pulls back both of them are a little pink, but they're smiling, quiet pleased little smiles.

Richie whoops. “I knew it!” he yells. “I fucking knew it!”

Eddie catches on. “You two are together?”

Ben nods shyly, and Bev says, “Since a couple weeks ago.” Eddie’s never seen her blush like this.

“I’m so happy for you guys,” Mike says, and it’s genuine, because it’s Mike.

Bev’s squeezing Ben’s hand and biting back a smile, but she also seems to want to deflect the attention, so she chooses a new target.

“Stan. Who was the last person _ you _ kissed?”

“Richie,” Stan replies, matter-of-factly, as if observing the weather.

Next to Eddie, Bill chokes. Eddie very nearly does the same, but instead he looks across the circle to Richie for confirmation. Richie’s eyes dart over, meet Eddie’s, and flinch away almost immediately.

“You k-k-kissed Richie?” Bill’s asking. “W-w-when?”

Stan shrugs but doesn’t look at him. “A couple months ago?”

“W-w-why?” Bill’s stutter is flaring up and his voice is borderline hysterical. Eddie’s more composed but, to be honest, he’s wondering the exact same thing.

This question at least seems to fluster Stan, and the tips of his ears turn pink. Before he can answer, though, Richie intervenes.

“Please, Big Bill, there are _ some _ intimate details of our romance that Stanley and I wish to keep private.” His voice is coquettish. Eddie wishes, not for the first time, that he could tell how much of what Richie says is a joke.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bev says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, at this point, who hasn’t kissed Richie?”

Eddie’s heart stops.

Richie gasps dramatically. “Bev! You make me sound like a common harlot.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eddie says, and he hates himself for even asking. “Who _ has _ kissed Richie?”

Bev raises her hand. Ben raises his hand. Stan raises his hand. Bill, even, raises his hand.

Richie opens his mouth. “Your mo—”

“_Beep fucking beep, Richie_.”

It’s a lot. Eddie has no idea what to do with this information. He looks around at his friends — Stan still a little flushed from the interrogation, Bill staring at Stan and crushing his empty cup in his hand, Ben watching the drama unfold with wide eyes, Bev with her hand firmly clasped over Richie’s mouth — and feels absolutely bewildered. A little betrayed. He wants to ask, _ Why them_? But it’s obvious. They’re his friends, and they're all wonderful, and beautiful, and funny, and good. The real question is, _ Why not him_?

“Gotta say, I’m feeling kinda left out here,” Mike interjects. It’s a distraction, at least.

Richie drags Bev’s hand away from his mouth. “We could fix that, Mikey,” he offers salaciously. Eddie doesn’t like this distraction.

“Richie,” Stan says, “I dare you to kiss Mike.”

Eddie feels a sudden, inexplicable wave of wrath towards Stanley Uris.

Richie’s eyes flick over to Eddie. Eddie looks down into his cup and focuses his energy on swallowing as much alcohol as he can fit into his mouth. This isn’t even how the fucking game works. Stan’s supposed to give Richie a choice between truth or dare. You can’t just say a dare without asking the question first.

“Do it,” Bill cheers. Bill is also a traitor.

Richie is crawling over Stan to get to Mike and makes a show of straddling his lap. It’s more ridiculous than sexy, but it still feels like something he should not be doing in a room full of other people. Eddie’s face feels hot, like he shouldn’t be watching this, like he shouldn’t be here. 

He looks away from Richie and Mike and catches Ben watching him with sad, sympathetic eyes. This only makes him feel worse, angry. He doesn’t care that Richie’s kissing Mike, he’s not jealous. He just doesn’t want to watch his friends kiss each other. That’s not weird, it’s common fucking decency. 

Bev wolf-whistles. They must have kissed. Maybe they’re still kissing. Eddie doesn’t want to find out. He drains his cup.

“You want another drink?” he asks Bill. It’s supposed to be a whisper. Bill nods, distracted.

Eddie makes his way over to the table and picks out a new cup to replace the one Bill crushed.

“Ey, Barkeep, pour me one, wontcha?” 

Richie’s followed him to the table. Eddie glares and throws a cup at him.

“Looks like you sure get around.” It comes out far more bitter than Eddie intended.

Richie laughs. “You worried about me catching herpes, Eds? Don’t worry, I never kiss without a condom.”

“That’s not how kissing works, asshole.” Eddie focuses on pouring drinks. Keep busy. Don’t make eye contact.

“Maybe it is the way I do it,” Richie says, and Eddie knows without looking up that he doesn’t want to see whatever Richie’s eyebrows are doing.

“Gross. Shut up.” Eddie picks up his cup and Bill’s and starts to walk away. Richie catches his elbow — a gentle touch, but enough to make him hesitate.

“You jealous, Kaspbrak?” Richie asks. His voice is low, and Eddie shivers.

“You fucking wish,” he says, and shoulders past him.

“I need you to kiss me,” Eddie declares later that evening, when it’s just the two of them standing outside the clubhouse.

Bill, god bless him, takes it in stride. “O-okay. Why?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” Eddie explains. “I don’t wanna be the only one who hasn’t kissed anybody.”

“You mean the only one who hasn’t k-kissed Richie.”

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. “Richie has nothing to do with this.”

“Eddie,” Bill says. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You could make Stan jealous,” Eddie offers, in case that might motivate him.

“Th-that’s not — I d-d-don’t —”

“Please, Bill?” Eddie begs. He can’t articulate in words why this is so important, but it is now. “Please? Just one kiss.”

Eddie knows he’s not the hottest catch, but come on. Surely _ someone _ somewhere has to want to kiss him. Is that too much to ask? 

Bill looks at him for a long time, and then he reaches for him, and Eddie leans forward and upward, eyes closed, ready to be kissed. But Bill just places his hand on his shoulder and says, “You’re drunk, Eddie. You can s-s-sleep on my couch tonight.”

The day after the party, Eddie marches into Richie’s room, shuts the door behind him, and announces, “You should kiss me.”

Not once, in his wildly imaginative and embarrassingly numerous fantasies, has Richie anticipated this moment. He’s not prepared. He’s wearing pajama pants with rockets on them. That’s not important, but he’s aware of it, and he definitely feels like it’s the wrong outfit for the occasion.

Several possible answers occur to him:

(a)_ Holy shit yes, I have been dreaming of this for years. _ (Yikes, desperate much?)  
(b) _ Absolutely, I never really do not want to be kissing you. _ (Again, way too much.)  
(c) _ Sure thing, bro, anything for a friend_. (Dude. Come on.)

Richie only manages (d) none of the above. He opens his mouth and all that comes out is a squeak.

“Come on,” says Eddie, crossing towards him. There’s a fierce look of determination on his face and, _ fuck, _ Richie wants to kiss him. “You can complete the set, final item on your ‘To Kiss’ list. Besides, it’s not like Bill will kiss me.”

Eddie has always been the only person on Richie’s “To Kiss” list. Eddie is his “To Kiss” list. But before Richie can tell him that, his brain catches up to his ears. “What about Bill?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eddie says, and he sits on the edge of the bed, next to Richie’s rocket-clad legs. “He said no. So here I am, let’s do it.”

“Uh,” Richie says, and he tries to think (which is very hard, when Eddie is _ here _ and on his _ bed _ and _ this close _ to him). And then he pictures Eddie propositioning Bill, and it’s like a douse of cold water. “No?”

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, and he sounds angry. “Why won’t you kiss me?”

It’s not a question Richie ever thought he’d have to answer. “I —”

“You kiss everyone else!” Eddie’s standing now, pacing. “You kissed Bev and Ben and Stan and Bill and Mike, you kissed Mike in front of all of us! But you won’t kiss me?”

Richie has no idea what’s going on. He feels like he’s suffering from whiplash. “Did you want me to kiss you?” he asks, half-confused, half-hopeful.

Eddie glares at him. “I don’t know what your fucking problem is, Tozier,” he growls.

And just like that, Hurricane Eddie storms back out of his room, and all that’s left of Richie is debris.

In all his years of being Trashmouth, Richie’s gotten quite used to his mouth getting him into trouble. The difference now is that he’s never been in trouble for _ not _ using his mouth before.

So he grabs his bike and goes straight to Bill’s house, because that’s the only thing he can think to do.

“What happened between you and Eddie?” he demands, as soon as Bill opens the door.

“Nothing,” Bill says. “D-do you want to come in?”

He does, and he throws himself onto Bill’s couch. “Did Eddie try to kiss you?” he asks.

Bill doesn’t say anything. It’s confirmation enough.

Richie groans in despair and covers his face with his hands. “What the motherfucking fuck?”

He’s not sure who it’s aimed at. Maybe Bill, maybe Eddie, maybe the universe at large. It just all feels monumentally unfair. Eddie Kaspbrak, who has never once expressed any interest in kissing anybody (and Richie’s been paying a lot of attention), tried to kiss Bill Denbrough. And then he got mad at Richie about it.

Bill rolls his eyes. “Like you get to talk.”

Richie sits up. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not your b-business,” Bill says. “You don’t get to k-kiss S-s-stan and then get m-mad at Eddie for th-this.”

“What the fuck does Stan have to do with this?”

“I d-don’t know. Why’d you kiss him?” Bill’s mad. Everyone’s mad at Richie, and he doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s done to deserve it.

“He asked me to!”

“But why?” Bill seems frantic now. “Are you g-guys —” He can’t finish the sentence.

Richie gapes. Something clicks.

“Bill,” he asks, “do you like Stan?”

Bill goes beet red. “It’s n-not —”

Richie’s on his feet before Bill chokes on an excuse. He lays his hands on Bill’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “Bill, Bill. Hey. Billiam. Look at me. Big Bill. Stan doesn’t like me.”

“He k-kissed you,” Bill says quietly.

“So did Ben,” Richie points out. “So did you.”

“But not Eddie.”

No. Not fucking Eddie. Almost Eddie, but not quite.

Richie sinks down onto the arm of the couch. “Why did Eddie try to kiss you?”

“Why did you kiss all of us except him?”

Richie’s getting real tired of this answering-a-question-with-a-question business. “It’s not like I was trying to,” he says, helplessly. “It wasn’t, like, intentional.”

“T-try explaining,” Bill offers gently.

“What do I say?” Richie asks. “‘Sorry, Eds, I can’t help my intense sexual magnetism, it’s not my fault that everyone throws themselves at me?’”

Bill shrugs. “If that’s the b-best you can do. And maybe ch-change out of your pajamas first.”

Eddie knows he’s being unreasonable. Eddie knows he’s taking this way harder than he needs to. Eddie knows that he shouldn’t take this personally. Except, if a kiss isn’t personal, what is?

It feels like an indictment of his entire person. Like Eddie has some fundamental flaw that has rendered him entirely unkissable. Is it because he’s too short? Is it because he’s too ugly? Is it because of his fucking mom, and all the pills she made him take? Is it because he talked too much about herpes? Is it because Richie just doesn’t like him at all, even as friends?

They’re the Losers Club. They all do things together. Apparently, one of those things they do now is kiss Richie. And Eddie’s used to being left out of things, but these are his friends, and he trusted them, and he doesn’t understand why he’s being left out of this.

The worst part is that Eddie knows that’s not the real problem. He’s used to getting his feelings hurt, he’s used to getting made fun of, whatever. He’s a fucking Loser, after all. He knows what it feels like to get his ego bruised.

This isn’t that. This is an ache in his heart, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He flops onto his bed. He keeps imagining Richie kissing all of their friends, which sucks. But then every once in a while he pictures Richie kissing him and, somehow, that hurts even more. Because Eddie asked him, flat out, and Richie had rejected him.

He feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes and he rubs them away, turning over onto his stomach to bury his face in the pillow. He’s not going to cry over Richie Tozier. He refuses to let himself cry over Richie Tozier, even if he is his best friend, even if he did reject him, even if he never wants to kiss Eddie.

His mom knocks on the door.

“Go away,” Eddie groans. “I wanna be alone.”

He hears the tell-tale creak of his mom opening the door anyway, because she has no fucking respect for his privacy, and he sits up. “I said go away!”

Richie blinks at him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Eddie hisses. Richie is the absolute last person he wants to see right now.

“Can we talk?” Richie asks. He looks nervous. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen Richie look nervous like this.

Eddie folds his arms. “Maybe,” he says. “Are you going to tell me why you won’t kiss me?”

Maybe a smoother tactic would have been to pretend he didn’t care about the kissing at all, but Eddie’s not smooth, and he really fucking wants to know.

Richie takes a deep breath, and then starts talking. He’s pacing back and forth across Eddie’s room and the words tumble out of his mouth so fast Eddie can barely keep up.

“I don’t wanna kiss you to complete some dumb set,” Richie says, “and I don’t wanna kiss you just so I can say I kissed you, and I don’t wanna kiss you for practice, and I definitely don’t wanna kiss you because Bill refused and I’m your second choice. And also you should know that when I kissed the others they weren’t, like, real kisses, I mean serious ones, except maybe Stan, but that doesn’t count because he’s in love with Bill. With everyone else it just kind of happened, and I don’t want anything to happen with us. I mean, if I kiss you, I want it to be because you wanna kiss me and I wanna kiss you.”

Eddie takes a second to process the verbal cascade, and then scooches to the edge of the bed. He’s not sure he understood everything Richie said, and it’s very important that he understands this.

“So,” he asks, “do you want to kiss me?”

Richie flails his arms in exasperation. “Yes, I want to kiss you. Of course I wanna kiss you, Eds. You’re fucking adorable. I’ve wanted to kiss you for years.”

“Well, I want to kiss you!” Eddie counters. He feels like he’s made this quite obvious by now.

Richie’s stopped pacing, but nowhere near Eddie. There’s a wild look in his eyes. “Yeah, but, like, why?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why?”

“Like, will it mean something? I don’t want it to be just a kiss to you.” His hands are fidgeting, going in and out of his pockets, playing with the hem of his shirt, running through his hair. Eddie wants to grab them, hold them in his hands, keep him steady.

“It’s not just a kiss.”

“‘Cause if I kiss you, Eds, it’ll mean something to me.” He manages to make eye contact when he says this.

“Me too,” Eddie says. Is he not being clear enough? Is Richie even listening?

“No, but, you see —”

“Oh my god! Richie. I like you.”

“You like me? Like —”

“Yes! I fucking like you. I like-like you. I want to _ kiss _ you. Any of that get through your thick skull?”

Richie’s smile lights up the room. “You like me,” he says with wonder. “You want to kiss me.”

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Eddie groans. “Kiss me before I change my mind.”

Richie crosses over to him in two quick strides (god, his legs are so long) and places his hands on either side of Eddie’s face, more gently than he expected, cradling Eddie’s jaw with his fingers, tilting his head upwards.

“You really mean it?” Richie whispers.

“If you don’t kiss me, Richie, I swear I’ll fucking murder you.”

Richie grins and leans in — and suddenly Eddie remembers that Richie has kissed so many people and Eddie has kissed exactly zero, and he’s probably really bad at kissing, and he has no idea what to do with his mouth — but then their lips connect, and his brain stops working.

Kissing is a revelation. Eddie gets it now. Who gives a shit about germs? Kissing is the fucking best.

It’s a bit of an awkward kiss, because of the angle, because of Richie’s glasses sliding down his nose, because of how Eddie’s straining his neck to reach him. So Eddie tugs Richie down to the bed with him and Richie makes a little sound, half-surprise, half-laugh, and loses his balance, sprawling on his back. And Eddie decides he might as well go all in, so he climbs on top of Richie and kisses him again. And Richie makes another noise, very different from the first one and much much better, and surges up into the kiss, arms wrapping around Eddie’s back to hold him. He does something with his tongue that makes Eddie shiver and Eddie nips at his bottom lip in retaliation, which gets a hell of a reaction. It’s intoxicating. Eddie wants to keep kissing Richie, to keep making him make those noises, to keep being kissed by Richie, forever and ever.

But he lifts his head away from the kiss briefly, partially for air, partially because they’re not done talking. Richie whimpers a little bit at the separation.

“This is really good,” Eddie says, a tremendous understatement, “and I definitely want to keep kissing you, but before we continue, I really need to ask you a question.”

Richie nods. His eyes are wide and his hair is mussed and his lips are swollen and _ I did that_, Eddie thinks, _ I made him look like that_. “Yes. Anything,” Richie breathes.

“Did you bike all the way here in your fucking pajamas?”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Stan says. “I don’t make the rules.”

“You literally do,” Eddie points out. “You literally just made this rule.”

“The sign feels a bit like overkill,” Ben says. “Is it really necessary?”

Stan, who has just finished nailing a large cardboard poster to the wall of the clubhouse with the words “NO KISSING” scrawled across it, shrugs.

“We’re calling it the R-richie Tozier Rule,” Bill announces.

Richie stands and starts bowing dramatically. “A-thank you, lady and gents, thank you. It’s an honor just to be nominated.” Eddie yanks him back down to the floor by his arm.

“We’re not the only couple here,” Eddie complains. “This feels targeted.”

“It is,” Stan says, at the same time that Bev says, “It applies to everyone!”

“Bev and Ben only kissed for truth or dare that one time,” Mike adds.

Bill nods. “And S-stan and I don’t do PDA.”

“Listen,” Richie says, “It’s not my fault that Eds is so irresistible. How am I supposed to not kiss that face?”

Eddie whacks him with a pillow. “Fine,” he says, over Richie’s muffled protestations. “We’ll do it. No kissing in the clubhouse.”

“Thank you,” Stan says.

“Who’s f-free to go to the quarry on Saturday?” Bill asks, and attention shifts to the weekend, to future plans, to future adventures.

Richie taps Eddie’s knee and leans in close. “How about we get some air?” he whispers.

“Are you serious?” Eddie asks. “Right now?”

Richie shrugs. He’s grinning, biting his lower lip, like he knows Eddie’s answer before he even says it.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Let’s do it.” He looks over to their friends, laughing and joking and making plans. And he feels Richie’s hand slip into his, interlacing their fingers, squeezing his palm.

And Eddie sneaks out of the clubhouse to make out with his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even go here??? anyway hope this is okay


End file.
